


Desensitized

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Depression, Dissociation, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Multi, Past Rape/Non-con, Pegging, Polyamory, Prolonged Exposure Therapy, Rape Roleplay, Recovery, Threesome, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 16:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8497837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: If Josh is not within earshot, Tyler would say Josh is tender, Josh is sensitive, Josh is a little broken; and if Josh is within earshot, Tyler would say the exact same thing. He thinks Josh needs to listen to this. He thinks Josh needs to hear how ruined he's become and how he'll never be "normal" again. "And that's okay," Tyler said the night after it happened, watching Josh dye his hair pink with bags under his eyes and lips bitten to shreds. "You'll be okay, Josh. One day at a time."





	

There's a knuckle-sized scar through her bottom lip. Someone had on a ring and smashed in her face, cut her, fucked her up in more ways than one. She sucks on the scar because she can't suck on a cigarette. "So," she says, and her foot shakes, taps, bounces. "You're… his boyfriend."

It's not a question, but he answers it as if it were one. He's chewing on the inside of his cheek, wanting something else in his mouth—not a cigarette. He quit those a month ago. "Yeah, I'm his boyfriend."

She snorts and continues to wiggle her foot. Back and forth, her toenails are chipped pink with paint, pink like the hair his boyfriend grabs onto as he fucks and fucks. "Well," she says, "he's my boyfriend, too."

A retort, "I know; he's told me about you."

They're seated on fold-out metal chairs, side by side, a naked light bulb dangling above their heads. It's too clinical, too official, but it's all they know. On the third Thursday of every month, a group of ten of them piles into the basement of the local library to talk and cry. It's supposed to help.

She's tapping her foot again. "If he's told you about me, then you should have known I'd try to fuck you."

This is supposed to help.

"You should have been strong enough to stop me. You should have been able to say no."

In the basement of the library, he and she are the only ones down here. Tonight is a Friday. This is supposed to help.

"Shut up," he says.

"Tell me again: What did I do?"

He stares at that scar on her lip and thinks of the hand, the fist, that ripped it open, that made her bleed. "You…"

" _What did I do?_ " she repeats, and she isn't herself, he isn't himself—you aren't yourself.

No, you aren't yourself.

You can't breathe. Her nails are like talons, and they scratch and scratch. You are weak, and you need to say no, but you don't say no. She's tearing you apart, limb from limb, and taking her seat on your hips. A queen on her throne, her jester beneath her, she rules and laughs and pops the pimples on your neck, your jawline. You want her to stop, you need for her to stop, but she doesn't stop.

He comes in and finds you. He comes in and watches you. He comes in and touches himself, and then he's noticing the tears on your face, the claw marks on your neck, and he doesn't touch himself anymore. He's stumbling forward, erection tucked into the waistband of his sweats, and he pushes her, shoves her, and his fist is the one to open her lip, to bust her nose, to make her dainty face a purple and black mess.

He's here now, caressing pink hair and whispering in hands that cover ears. "I'm here, Josh. Tyler's here. Tyler's here."

When you raise your head—when Josh raises his head, she isn't there. She's vanished, drifted in a mushroom of violent smoke and replaced by Jenna, pretty Jenna, Jenna with a steady foot and smelling of coconuts and all that's good in the world. "What happened?" Tyler asks her, tone scathing, accusing.

Jenna says, "I found him here. Saw him on my way home from work. Texted you right after."

Tyler is soft. He holds Josh and rocks him, whispering again. Josh doesn't understand what he's saying, but it calms him. Jenna stares at them, and the rocking soothes her, too. She closes her eyes, and Josh closes his eyes.

This is supposed to help. This is supposed to help you.

*

Tyler sits on the curb with Josh on his right. Josh's head hurts, and he hasn't stopped shaking. The tears are gone, his teeth chattering from the cold, from wanting to chomp and chomp on something and feel it give way between his teeth. Tyler is with him, and Tyler is holding a packet of cigarettes. Thin plastic wrap crinkling, Tyler turns the pack over and over in his hands.

He says, "I forgot you quit."

Over and over, the cigarettes turn, he says, "I should quit."

Over and over, he says, "Shouldn't have to smell it on me."

It stains their clothes and their furniture, their curtains and their bed.

"Hey," he says, and slides out a cigarette. "My last one."

Jenna takes the dusty spot of curb on Tyler's left. She's wearing old tennis shoes and a pair of baggy jeans with the cuffs rolled up to show off ankles coated with a fine layer of brown hair. She sits and takes the cigarette from Tyler. "You're being rude." She moves to snap it in two.

"No," Tyler says, and Josh says it, as well.

"Let him smoke it," Josh adds.

"Yeah, let me smoke it," Tyler says, and Jenna doesn't break it, doesn't say anything, just hands over the cigarette and looks across the street.

The streetlamp blinks, and Tyler lights his cigarette.

Josh leans in, cheek to Tyler's shoulder, and breathes. He's shaking. Stop shaking, stop shaking.

"You can stop shaking." Tyler tries to be considerate, tries to be caring, but he's tired. It's past midnight. Cold—stop shaking, you can stop shaking.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." Tyler flicks ashes from his cigarette. Josh watches them fall to the sidewalk. "You did what you thought would help you."

This is supposed to help you.

Josh closes his eyes.

Jenna says, "Want me to drive him home?"

More ashes, another exhale, "If you don't care to, like… I know it's late." Tyler stares at his cigarette. "No," he decides. "I'll take him home. It's late. This isn't your problem."

" _Problem?_ " she says, and scoffs afterward. "Tyler, that's not—"

"It's late," Tyler repeats, a hand covering his face. His cigarette burns in his other hand. Josh watches and can almost feel the filter against his lips. "It's late, Jenna. I'm tired. So, fuck you. I'm going to take my boyfriend home and—"

"He's my—"

"I'll text you if I need you."

Tyler's head is turned to Jenna, the back of it facing Josh. They're staring at each other, indecipherable expressions. Jenna looks almost bored, hair coming undone from the loose braid draped on her shoulder. Blonde strands greasy, her bangs unattractive and parted awkwardly, she somehow manages to look better than Josh, who hasn't bothered to shower for two weeks. Tyler, on the other hand, showered hours ago, got into bed with Josh, curled up to Josh, and didn't notice Josh rising from the bed and putting on clothes and leaving.

Jenna says, "I need to be there. What if he leaves again?"

Tyler says nothing. He takes a drag from his cigarette.

Josh says, "I'm _right here_ , and I won't leave again."

Tyler points his thumb at Josh and raises his eyebrows at Jenna. Jenna looks across the street again. "Text me, then," she says, "if you need me."

"Always do."

She stands, hands sliding deep into her coat pockets. Old, the color of salmon, it reaches the backs of her thighs and warms her on nights like this. "Go shower," Tyler says, cigarette in his mouth and a bark in his bite.

"Go fuck yourself," she tells him, moving around his stretched-out legs to drop to the pavement in front of Josh. She reaches forward and grabs his knees. Poking from the holes in his jeans, she runs her thumbs over the pale skin, over the "Tyler" tattoo. "You aren't a burden, Josh," she says, and Tyler rolls his eyes.

"I didn't say—"

She ignores Tyler. "There's nothing wrong with you. Text me if you need someone to listen."

"I'm—"

She ignores Tyler. "Do you want me to come home with you?"

Tyler is quiet, calculating. Josh gives a short shake of his head, mumbling, "No, I've got Tyler." Tyler frowns and returns to his cigarette.

Jenna kisses Josh's forehead. "Sleep well." Then, to Tyler, "You, too."

Sheepish now, Tyler doesn't move his gaze from the burning end of his cigarette. "Thanks."

She leaves, one foot in front of the other.

The streetlight blinks, and Tyler stomps on his cigarette. "I don't like this," he says. "I don't like you going there."

"I can't stop." Josh stands when Tyler stands, dusts himself off when Tyler dusts himself off. "They said dropping out would cause more problems."

"Problems," Tyler scoffs. He's chewing on his lip, peeling away chapped skin. "You aren't a burden, Josh. I didn't mean for it to come out like that." His lip bleeds. "It's late." A justification and an excuse, Josh eats it up.

"Yeah." He kisses Tyler, slow and stationary, tasting and breathing. The kiss is gross and yet, it settles Josh, even as Tyler winds his arm around Josh's shoulders and brings Josh in closer. Their lips pressed together, Tyler's bleeding bottom lip between Josh's lips, they are unmoving and moving at the same time—Josh is shaking. Stop shaking, stop shaking, you can stop shaking.

Tyler brings Josh's head to his shoulder, his chest, Josh's face into his neck. "Do you want a bath when we get home?"

Josh says no, he doesn't.

"A shower?" Tyler tries. "You don't look like yourself."

You don't feel like yourself. "I don't feel like myself."

Tyler keeps his arm around Josh, lowering it to Josh's waist. "Let's go home, okay? We can talk more there, if you wanna."

"Maybe."

In Tyler's car, with the radio turned to some alternative rock station and the heat cranked up, Josh stops shaking.

*

Tyler sings while Josh showers. Josh doesn't follow the lyrics, but Tyler's voice is high, and it helps Josh forget everything bad that's happened in his life.

They lie in bed after, Josh still wet from his shower, Tyler hovering above him. "Do you want to talk?" he asks, and Josh shakes his head and spreads his legs.

"What do you want?" Tyler touches Josh's thighs.

"Want your dick in my mouth." Josh swipes his tongue over his lips. "Been dying, wanting to suck on it so bad."

Tyler pulls off his clothing. He climbs on top of Josh, swinging his leg over, hovering again. His cock is already hard, curved up to his belly and leaking. He's thought about this for a while, ever since Josh undressed in front of him and stepped into the shower. Tyler couldn't join him. He needed to sing, needed Josh to make the first move.

Josh wraps his lips around the head of Tyler's cock as Tyler does the same to Josh's. Fingers stroking what their mouths can't handle, Josh drools, and Tyler hums. "So good," he says. "You're so good for me, Joshie." Tyler spits and watches the beads roll down the side. Josh shakes. It's a good shake. Tyler shakes with Josh, tiny body twitches that accompany his orgasm. It's breath-taking.

Lying side by side, semen in their bellies and pillows tucked behind their heads, Tyler smokes another cigarette and swears this one is his last. Josh sees shapes in the smoke.

"Hey," Tyler says. "You know I'm proud of you, right?"

You know.

*

At this stage of his therapy, Josh's nightmares are far worse than they have ever been before in his life. When he sleeps, he gets cold sweats and scares the shit out of Tyler. On the nights he doesn't dream, he wakes exhausted and scares the shit out of Tyler anyway. Josh would rather have the restless slumber than the nightmares. Tyler doesn't know which he prefers, or if he even has to choose. He's holding Josh as soon as he begins to stir, regardless of how their night went. He does it this evening, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, letting Josh curl his fingers into the plain black material and cling to it. Josh is naked, tired, and he tells Tyler, "I'm hungry."

Tyler says, "Do you want to get Taco Bell?"

They get Taco Bell after Josh pushes himself from the bed and pulls on clothes. In matching shades of black with gray beanies hiding their hair, they sit in the parking lot, safe and warm inside Tyler's car. Tyler turns on the radio and eats his taco with one hand while the other taps on his phone. "Jenna wants to know if you're doing okay, if she needs to come over."

Josh's phone is still. "Doesn't she work late?"

"I told her you woke an hour ago, how you probably wouldn't be able to sleep tonight." Tyler wipes his fingers on a thin napkin. "She says she wants to f—"

"Okay," Josh says. "Tell her I'm okay right now. Tell her she can come over."

Tyler types.

Josh says, "We need to buy more condoms."

Tyler smiles.

*

For one day out of the month, on the third Thursday, Josh walks a fragile line. One foot in front of the other, tiptoe and light as a feather, all the precautions Josh takes to ensure he doesn't go under tend to fall flat. No matter how he was feeling the day before, or even the day of, sitting in the basement of the library with around ten other people just like him never fails to make him crumble into a worthless piece of shit.

It takes about a week for him to recover, and during this time, he wants to stay in bed. Tyler lets him, and when Jenna's here, she sits with Josh and plays with his hair and tells him he's doing so well with his therapy. Tyler says he wants Josh to quit; he says this when Josh is within and not within hearing range—but Josh eavesdrops. Jenna's response is always the same: "He can't drop out, Tyler. You know that."

Tonight, nearing ten, Jenna and Tyler are in the kitchen, doing God-knows-what, while Josh is in the bedroom, TV remote in hand and ready to turn it off mute if he hears footsteps coming down the hallway. They're still talking about him.

"Maybe," Jenna says, in a tone that's anticipating Tyler's inevitable slaughter, "he'd do a little better with the therapy if you came along."

"Aren't you enough? I don't like it there."

A pause. Josh knows Jenna's stare is able to cut diamonds. "Nobody fucking likes it there, Tyler. Do you think I like going there and listening to all those survivors talk about their abuse? Do you even know what Josh does during these group talks? What the therapist makes them talk about? Don't you ever insinuate any of them like going there."

"I wasn't—"

"Did I give you permission to speak?" Josh can hear Jenna's nails drum along a countertop. "Tyler Joseph, I told you it was rude to interrupt me."

"I'm sorry." Josh smiles. "Can I say something?"

"Can you?"

Another pause. "May I say something?"

"You may."

"I thought he would… recover faster if you were with him, seeing as you look like our ex. That's what this therapy does, right? Drowning?"

"Flooding," Jenna corrects. "I wasn't with you two when this happened to him, Tyler. Do you know who was? _You._ You walked in, and you—"

"I know," Tyler butts in. Then, "I'm sorry for interrupting you."

"It's okay. You're okay."

There aren't any footsteps, but Josh returns the TV to a suitable volume. Despite waking late today, Josh closes his eyes and allows himself this time to rest. He doesn't think of Jenna, and he doesn't think of Tyler. Josh thinks of nothing. It's hard to think of nothing.

*

Three hours is all Josh's body lets him relax. Complete shit, actually, and Josh's joints creak from his stretching. Josh doesn't have a headache, though, so that's something.

Tyler and Jenna are sitting in the bed, next to Josh. Tyler is shirtless, his forehead leaned against Jenna's shoulder as Jenna runs the tips of her fingers up and down the notches of Tyler's spine. Josh can't tell if Tyler is sleeping; Tyler's face is turned toward Jenna's neck.

Josh pushes himself up, tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie to cover his hands. "Is he okay?" He doesn't mention the argument from the kitchen. He wasn't supposed to hear.

Jenna says, "He's pouting," and she smiles.

Tyler and Josh have been dating for six years. They met at a concert for a local band and ended their night hooking up in a porta potty. It was one of the best nights of Josh's life.

It wasn't long after they got together that Tyler sat Josh down and told him, frightened out of his mind, that he might be polyamorous. Josh took Tyler's hand and said, "I think I might be, too."

They shared beds with other people before, but no one stayed until they met their ex. She was great at the time—liked to play around a lot. She did this game where she pretended she didn't know either Josh or Tyler and acted like she just found out her boyfriend was cheating on her with another dude.

"Guess we have to fuck, then!"

Josh never fucked her. He liked having her around as a sort of companion, someone to drive him around when Tyler was at work or couldn't be bothered to get off the couch or bed. Tyler liked her more, fucked her a lot. Josh watched them. Tyler would always lean over and finish Josh when she went to sleep. Tyler would whisper, "I know you don't like her watching you like this," and he'd flick his wrist and send Josh falling off the mattress with a blanket tangled around his ankle.

He's talked about what happened in therapy, in front of Jenna. Jenna cried and held his hand.

This is supposed to help you.

Jenna has been in their life for a month, almost two. Josh and Tyler were in a rough patch, openly fighting in a JCPenney about Josh's coping methods—rather, the lack of them. Tyler waved around a frying pan, and Josh had a toaster in his hands, and they shouted until a worker came to break them, worried they would commit battery in the middle of appliances. It was Jenna, and she took them outside and sat with each of them, separately, in the area designated for the employees to smoke.

"What's going on?" she asked them.

"Nothing," Tyler said. "We're fine."

"Nothing," Josh said. "We're fine."

Jenna hugged each of them. "You can text me, okay?" She gave them her number. "It's good to have a mediator for this. A third party. Someone who isn't biased."

They took her up on that offer, sitting in Starbucks one day while Tyler explained their situation. He left out almost everything of importance, just revealing they recently parted ways with their abusive ex, and it took a toll on Josh.

"Maybe talking to a therapist could do both of you some good," Jenna suggested, to which Tyler clapped his hands and said, "Josh fucking won't."

Jenna frowned. Josh did, too.

"Do you need help finding someone to talk to?" Jenna asked. "I can help you." She touched Josh's hand, and he filled with a warmth he hadn't experienced from his and Tyler's ex. Jenna was different. Jenna was kind.

And Jenna was all for jumping into bed with the pair of them.

"It's not just a sex thing, right?" she panted, wrapping a sheet around her body as Tyler lit a cigarette and Josh rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't get me wrong. The sex was _great_ , but I don't want this to be just a sex thing."

"It's not," Josh said, and Jenna smiled.

Their relationship dynamic is peculiar in the sense Josh and Tyler have never been doted on so much by a single person before. They were both Mamas' boys, but even their mothers didn't go as far as this.

Jenna is petting Tyler's spine and telling Josh he's pouting.

"Why is he pouting?" Josh scoots over to them, touching Tyler's stomach, his side, rubbing anything he can. Beneath the blanket over Tyler's lap, he's naked and aroused. Josh presses a kiss to Tyler's shoulder. "Is she not touching you? Is that why our baby boy is pouting?"

Tyler's nod is stunted. He sniffs. There are the hints of tears in his voice. "S-she said I need to wait until you woke up."

"I'm up. I'm up." Josh scoops Tyler into his arms, setting Tyler in his lap. Tyler's arms wrap around Josh's neck, and he squeezes. Jenna is still smiling, content, and she and Josh direct their line of sight to Tyler's cock, hard and leaking against his stomach. Tyler squirms in Josh's lap. "Have you told her what you wanted?"

Tyler nods again.

Josh lightly pats Tyler's thigh. "Use your words."

"Fuck me," Tyler says, and it's strong. He's not playing a character anymore. He's desperate. Josh wonders how long Tyler has been in this state. "I want both of you to fuck me."

Jenna works off her clothes, plucking a hair tie from her wrist to put a slapdash braid in her hair. It comes out looking as if she spent hours on it. A car drives by their apartment, and the headlights illuminate the entire room. "Go fuck yourself," Jenna tells Tyler, and Tyler sticks out his tongue and wiggles his fingers.

"Already did, sweetheart. Wouldn't let me come."

"Get on your stomach," Josh says, and begins shedding his own clothes, dropping every article to the floor. Jenna still walks about the bedroom, picking through drawers and dressers, searching for something. She hasn't shaved, and she looks beautiful.

Tyler rolls onto his stomach.

Josh smacks the back of Tyler's thigh and slaps his palm over Tyler's mouth. "How many fingers have you had inside yourself tonight?"

Tears frequent Tyler's eyes. He licks Josh's palm four times.

Jenna is back on the bed, a bottle of lube, a harness, and a purple dick with her. It's as realistic as a purple dick can get. "Told him we needed to lie down and sleep. Told him how great it'll be for you to wake up and find us in bed with you, but I opened my eyes after fifteen minutes and found him fucking himself beneath the blankets."

Tyler doesn't even try to justify himself. He shakes his hips. Josh smacks him again, Tyler gasping into his palm.

"I watched him. Wanted to see how long it'd take him to notice me. Only noticed when he sat up to get more lube. I told him he was a very bad boy, didn't I, Tyler?"

Tyler nods. He closes his eyes. Josh holds out his hand, the one not currently over Tyler's mouth, and lets Jenna drizzle lubricant onto his fingers. Without warming it up, Josh rubs his fingers over Tyler's hole, pushing in two without resistance. Tyler squirms, shoulders rolling.

"Raise your hips," Jenna says, "and spread your legs."

Tyler does. Josh moves his hand from Tyler's mouth to Tyler's neck. He doesn't do anything else, just lets Tyler rock back on his fingers. Jenna slips on the harness and sticks in her dick. She holds it around the base and gives Josh a raised eyebrow and cocky grin as she flops it up and down. Josh dares not laugh. He doesn't want to make Tyler feel insecure. Instead, he cracks a smile and presses two more fingers inside Tyler. Tyler groans. "H-holy _shit_ ," he whispers. Embarrassingly enough, Tyler goes on to ask for more.

Josh blinks. "I'm not gonna fist you."

"Wasn't asking for that."

Josh removes his fingers. He grabs a tissue from the bedside table and wipes them off, head turning to watch Jenna coat her cock in lube and crawl toward Tyler. She's pushing his legs apart more, to accommodate her person, and taking hold of the dick in her fist, bracing herself with a hand on the bed next to Tyler's hip as she enters him. Tyler whimpers. He buries his face in the bed sheets and lets Jenna get accustomed to a rhythm she enjoys, one where it's rubbing both Tyler's sweet spot and her own. This isn't the first time she's fucked Tyler; honestly, Josh thinks she's fucked Tyler more times than Tyler's fucked her, but it doesn't matter. Josh can tell from the look on her face she's having fun with taking the role of the alpha and molding it to make it hers. And frankly, Josh does it, too. He wouldn't say it's a defense mechanism, or even a coping one. He likes fucking Tyler into the mattress, a hand on his throat, and listening to Tyler begging for him to go faster, go harder, please, please, please, Josh, that feels so fucking good.

This is supposed to help you, Josh thinks, and shakes the thought from his head.

Jenna stops thrusting, pulling out of Tyler completely after noticing a dozen or so minutes in that Tyler hasn't uttered a sound or moved his head from its face-down position in the sheets. She wipes the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand as Josh takes Tyler's shoulder and maneuvers him onto his side. Tyler is crying. Snot is on his lips, on his face. He doesn't say anything, just grabs at his cock and gives it a few tugs. "Want it like this?" Josh asks him, and reaches over to grab another tissue to clean Tyler's nose. "Or do you want to ride Jenna, with me in front of you?"

"That," Tyler says, sitting up. "I want that."

"You have to ask Jenna."

Jenna has her hand on her dick, running her palm up and down the length of it, mimicking Tyler. Tyler doesn't seem to notice. "May you fuck me like that?"

"Since you asked so nicely, baby boy."

Tyler is timid now, as they're getting ready. He's shaking, handing the lube to Josh, and then to Jenna. They do this slowly, cautiously. Jenna props her head with the pillows and stretches out on her back. Tyler gets on top of her, lies down on top of her, her chest to his back. Jenna hugs him quickly and blows a raspberry into his neck. Tyler laughs.

"You get in him first," Josh says. "Can you hold his legs to his chest?"

"I can do that," Tyler says. He does as suggested, leaning his head on the pillows with Jenna, mindful of her comfort. "Tell me if I get too heavy."

Jenna places her hands on top of Tyler's. "You're a lightweight, Tyler." She edges her hips forward, Josh on his knees in front of them, guiding the purple cock inside Tyler. "He needs to be—" Jenna drifts, lifting Tyler, pulling him down, moving his knees almost to his ears.

Tyler protests, but makes no indication he wants to change positions. He closes his eyes. Jenna presses her feet flat against the mattress and knocks her hips into Tyler's ass. Tyler whines. "Right there. Oh, God, you're already—shit." Tyler digs his nails into the backs of his thighs, curling his toes. "I-I, I think—" Nothing. Tyler parts his lips and doesn't continue.

Josh applies more lube, to both his dick and letting it drip over Tyler's hole. Tyler twitches. Jenna rocks into him, getting more of her bearing to let her cock slide into Tyler deeper each time. Josh edges himself forward, rubbing the head of his dick against Tyler's perineum.

Tyler's breath catches. He stills. Josh carefully pushes himself inside, Jenna ceasing her movements in order to let Tyler get used to the stretch. Tyler's keening, sweat breaking out on his forehead and rolling down his sides in beads. His head is tilted back, gasping, grunting, small, high-pitched noises that he only ever utters when Jenna and Josh treat him like this. "I don't think I can… I can…" It's all for a show. Tyler acts like this so Jenna can shush him, can kiss his cheek, his ear, and tell him he's doing so well for them, so good, so very good. Tyler's opened himself up like this for them on more than one occasion—definitely more than twice, though Josh and Jenna can both admit, this does wear Tyler out, and they have to sit as if they were stone statues for Tyler to stop crying from the stretch and to begin crying from the pleasure. This typically takes around five minutes. During this time, Tyler's erection flags, but it's returned by the third or fourth thrust.

They thrust forward now, after Tyler nods and says, "I'm ready." Josh moves first, placing his hands on top of Jenna's, on top of Tyler's, on the backs of Tyler's thighs, for leverage. He pulls out, Jenna pushes in, and she pulls out, and Josh pushes in. Every sixth press in, they slide in together, and Tyler fucking loses it each time, no matter if they've discussed extensively what they've planned to do beforehand, to ease Tyler into this, to make this as easy on him as possible, to not trigger any bad memories.

Their sex isn't rough when it's with Jenna. It can't be rough with Jenna, not when Josh is involved. If Josh is not within earshot, Tyler would say Josh is tender, Josh is sensitive, Josh is a little broken; and if Josh is within earshot, Tyler would say the exact same thing. He thinks Josh needs to listen to this. He thinks Josh needs to hear how ruined he's become and how he'll never be "normal" again. "And that's okay," Tyler said the night after it happened, watching Josh dye his hair pink with bags under his eyes and lips bitten to shreds. "You'll be okay, Josh. One day at a time."

Josh didn't look at Tyler, and he didn't speak to Tyler. His hands were shaking, and he didn't even try to keep them steady. Tyler volunteered to help. He stepped forward, and Josh stepped back. Tyler watched him some more, and Josh didn't stare at him at all. "Okay," Tyler said, and nothing else.

Jenna and Josh pace themselves, taking note of Tyler's mewls and flushed tone his skin took. They pace themselves and slowly begin sliding into Tyler simultaneously. Tyler's almost there, twitching, mouth open and actual shouts escaping. Their neighbors hate them on these nights. Jenna deals with the landlord if they get complaints. Eventually the neighbors just take matters into their own hands—sliding notes under the front door, congratulating them and saying they've used the noises as fodder for their own activities. Tyler is flattered. Josh thinks that's why he's louder when Jenna joins in on the fucking. That, and because Tyler is genuinely unable to express his pleasure in any other way.

"Oh, oh," he starts it off with, going into "Right there, right there, oh, my God, that feels so good." His moans sound fake, over-exaggerated, but he's crying and fighting himself to not buck and squirm and move. "I think I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come." Tyler is pink. He's whimpering now, whining like a puppy. "Can I come? Please let me come."

This is Jenna's department. She lets go of Tyler's thigh to grab his dick, squeezing it around the base. "Not until Josh comes."

Tyler full-on sobs. His face screws up from how tightly he closes his eyes. "Please, please, please. I need to come."

Jenna squeezes harder. "What did I say?"

Josh snaps his hips forward at the same time Jenna does. They rock. Tyler mumbles, "Please," over and over. It's a scandalous sight. Tyler hugs the backs of his knees, forehead pressing into the kneecaps. He groans, long and stuttered with each thrust of Jenna's and Josh's hips. "Oh, please, please, please." At this point, it's automatic. At this point, Tyler will wait hours in order to reach his climax. But also, at this point, Josh is sliding out of Tyler and crawling up the bed.

"On your side," Josh tells Tyler, and Tyler rolls, Jenna still inside him, Jenna still holding his cock.

"Open your mouth. Eyes on me."

Tyler does, and he sticks out his tongue for good measure. He's pretty, blinking, eyelashes wet and body trembling lightly. Nothing forms from his vocal chords. Tyler is expectant. Tyler is a good boy.

Josh needs only four pumps of his hand before he's shooting his load across Tyler's cheek, completely missing Tyler's mouth, not like Josh was aiming particularly well in the first place.

"So good," Jenna coos in Tyler's ear, rocking her hips and starting to ease into fucking Tyler again. "You're so good for us, baby boy."

Tyler tries to lick up all he can. It's not much. "Can I come? Please let me come. I've been good. Please, please."

Jenna lets go of Tyler's dick and pushes herself onto her hands. She rolls Tyler onto his stomach, trapping his erection between the bed and his stomach, and she fucks Tyler. Tyler grabs a pillow, a fistful of blankets, and shoves his face back into the sheets. He's staining them, wiping away Josh's come, drooling so much. Josh watches him and watches Jenna. Her back is arched, her head toward the ceiling, her grip on Tyler's hips white-knuckled. "You can come. You can come," she says, and Tyler screams, curling in on himself, crying, gasping for air.

"Thank you," he says. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." He's still repeating it as Jenna pulls out and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Oh, God, thank you." Tyler's hands are fidgeting too much to do anything properly. Josh grabs tissues and cleans him up the best he can while Jenna goes into the bathroom to fetch a washcloth.

Tyler is in near hysterics. "Thank you," he tells Josh, raising a hand to touch Josh's shoulder. "Thank you."

Josh shushes him, lightly dabbing away the tears from his eyes. "It's okay. It's okay."

Tyler breaks, crying more, shivering. "Josh, I—"

Jenna is back. Her cock is set on top of a dresser, and a washcloth is in her hand. "Tyler, you—"

"Don't," Josh warns, dropping the used tissue onto the nightstand and letting Tyler grab at his waist, trying desperately to get closer.

"I wasn't going to be mean," she says, and cleans Tyler, his face, stomach, between his legs. She passes the cloth to Josh, who wipes off his own dick before returning it to Jenna. "Does he need a bath?" she asks then, and Josh shakes his head.

"He needs to sleep." Josh stands, bringing Tyler with him, a limp body, a doll. His toes are still curled.

Jenna pulls on a t-shirt and quickly changes the sheets. Josh sets Tyler down, covering him up with the blanket. "Are you okay?" Jenna leans forward and kisses Tyler's forehead. "Do you need to be alone?"

"Josh," Tyler whispers. "I need Josh."

"Can Jenna stay?" Josh touches Tyler's cheek, stroking the bone beneath warm skin. "You might need me, but I need Jenna."

Tyler nods. He's tired, wanting to lean against Josh, to hug, to be coddled, and Josh crawls across the bed and lies next to Tyler. Tyler continues to shake as he holds onto Josh's hip, Josh's thigh, his bicep, alternating, can't make up his mind.

"Jenna," Josh says, and turns his head. "Did you come?"

She shakes her head. "It's fine." But she's getting on the bed with them, straddling Josh, a knee on each side of his neck. "Are you sure?" She glances at Tyler.

Tyler is staring at each of them with half-lidded eyes. He answers for Josh. "Go on," he says, and scoots closer. "She deserves it. Let her fuck your mouth."

Josh places his palms to the small of Jenna's back, lowering her, and Jenna sticks her fingers in Josh's hair, gripping the pink. Tyler presses a hand on Jenna's thigh, rubbing absently as he watches Josh wrap his lips around Jenna's clit to kiss, to lightly suck, to swipe with the tip of his tongue. She's wet, nearly there despite the loll of action to provide aftercare for Tyler. Josh doesn't have to do much, just a lap to her labia and a gentle suction to her clit, and Jenna's gasping, tipping forward and leaning her forehead against the wall above their bed. Her hips are twitching, her fingers tight in Josh's hair. Tyler watches her in complete amazement, wide eyes, parted lips.

Jenna tips onto Josh's other side, an arm over her face. Tyler is on top of Josh now, kissing him, touching his neck, holding him in place as he tastes the traces of Jenna on Josh's tongue. Quietly, he moans, and Josh moans with him.

Tyler gets off Josh after that, and he's moving onto his side of the bed, eyes shut, blankets around him. He doesn't say thank you. He doesn't say good night. He snores.

Jenna says, "Thank you." Jenna says, "Do you need to talk?"

And Josh cries. Jenna holds him. "When you're ready." She lets Josh's tears dampen the front of her t-shirt. "When you're ready, I'm here."

Josh only cries. That's good enough for Jenna.

*

You have another nightmare, and it's worse than the others. She's on top of you again, her cunt riding your cock, doing nothing for her, for you, because you're soft, because you're scared. But she's milking you, hips grinding, hips rocking, and you want to scream, you want to tell her to stop, but you don't tell her to stop.

This time, he doesn't come to save you. She continues to fuck herself on your cock, and her fingers wrap around your throat, and she squeezes, and you wake finding it hard to breathe. You're clawing at your neck, hissing, thrashing about on the bed, and he's on top of you, holding you down and letting your hands hit his arms, his shoulders, in the fucking face. "Stop, stop," he says, and he takes your arms then, his body going from side to side as you toss and turn. You want out; dear God, you want out so badly.

"Hey, hey, _hey_ ," he's saying now, still a fierce grip on your wrists. It might leave bruises. "Come back to me. Listen to my voice. You're safe. I'm here, Josh. Tyler's here. Tyler's here."

Weak, you're weak, Josh is weak. Josh is lax in Tyler's fists, his shoulders shaking, fighting to breathe through his nose.

"Jenna," Tyler says, looking toward the bathroom, where Jenna had run to during Josh's fit. "Jenna, pull up that GIF, the one that's an inflating and deflating box. I have it bookmarked on my phone."

Jenna does. She's composed. In the early morning light, she is an angel while Tyler remains in the recovery process. He's managed to pull on clothing sometime during the night: a cut-off shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. The mesh feels weird against Josh's bare skin.

She passes over Tyler's phone once the picture loads. Tyler lets go of one of Josh's arms to hold the phone in front of his face, the screen brightness low, the image of the box getting bigger and getting smaller looping.

"Breathe along to this," Tyler says.

"In, and then out," Tyler says.

"There you go," Tyler says.

"There you go."

Jenna stares at the pair of them, arms over her chest. She looks out of place, standing next to the bed. Tyler is used to this, has woken to this scene on more than one occasion, and has had to calm Josh down on his own, bring him out of that headspace. Josh's bloodied Tyler's nose before, forced him to spit blood. He did this on Josh's face, though, and Josh snapped out of it as soon as Tyler's blood hit his cheek.

With Tyler on top of him, the cell phone inches from his nose, Josh's breathing slows, his head is only a dull pain, and Josh, once more, begins to quietly cry. He closes his eyes. Tyler tosses his phone on the bed. "Hey there." He takes Josh's hands in his own and kisses each knuckle. "I'm here. I'll always be here, Josh. Joshie, I'll be here for you."

From the side of the room, Jenna is quiet. She takes a seat on the bed and lets Tyler ease Josh into a relaxed state, into a mindset better suited for the morning hours. Wet kisses to Josh's hands, wrists, forearms, Tyler keeps his eyes on Josh. He doesn't waver. Josh sniffs. Tyler nods. Josh smiles, and Tyler smiles back.

"You okay?" He sounds exhausted, ready to fall onto his stomach and sleep for another century. He's asking if Josh is okay, but he's actually pleading for Josh to be okay. Not truly a question, it's more of a demand. Are you okay? You're okay. _You're okay_.

"I'm okay," Josh says, but Tyler doesn't react positively. He's slumping his shoulders, closing his eyes, sighing.

Disappointment, Tyler says, "You can fucking talk to me, Josh."

Jenna is timid. She stands and pulls the curtains closer together, the thick fabric shielding the room from light.

"What do you want me to say?" Josh is tired.

Tyler is tired. "I don't know."

"Let's sleep for a little more," Jenna says.

And so, they do, Josh clinging to Tyler and Jenna with her arm around Tyler's shoulders. Tyler is turned toward Josh, hugging, protecting. Josh feels small. He doesn't dream this time around, and he doesn't know how he feels about that.

*

Josh wakes and immediately grabs Tyler's arm and twists it behind his back. Still asleep, still in the midst of whatever sort of dream that would possess him to talk about gerbils, Tyler groans. "Baby, that hurts."

One hand holding down Tyler's arm, Josh uses his free hand to grope for the lube, tossing it beside Tyler on the bed. Josh struggles to shove down Tyler's shorts afterward, thinking Tyler is purposefully making this harder for him by not moving. Josh reminds himself Tyler is mostly asleep, waking with a lazy stir. "Baby," Tyler says, "again?"

The clock on the bedside table reads ten fifteen. Jenna is asleep, an arm stuck beneath a pillow.

"You want to do it again?" Tyler asks in a louder voice. He's awake fully now, head raised and turning to look over his shoulder, at Josh.

"This is supposed to help me." Josh's head is lowered, his grip on Tyler's arm tightening. "They said this is supposed to help me."

"Josh," Tyler sighs, and it's broken. Tyler tries to move, but Josh's fingers dig into his skin. "What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing."

Tyler goes limp.

Josh lets go of Tyler's arm to use both hands to pull Tyler's shorts from his legs. Josh hadn't dressed when he woke the first time. He holds his cock and lets the lube coat it. Tyler's eyes close. He doesn't need preparation. He had enough of that merely hours ago.

There's no resistance as Josh pushes inside. Tyler bites his lip and finds a hold on a blanket, a pillow, anything to squeeze when Josh begins to fuck him. It's rough, not forgiving in the slightest. The headboard bangs against the wall, and Josh wraps his hand around Tyler's neck to hold up his head. Tyler is pink again, spit on his lips, unable to keep his eyes open. Josh can feel him swallow, can hear him whispering for Josh to stop, to stop, to stop, stop, _stop_.

Jenna is awake. She's watching them. She knows.

Tyler begins to throw himself around on the bed, just a quick left and right motion, body wiggling, hands grabbing for purchase on the sheets, pulling at them as he tries to crawl, crawl, crawl, but the sheets come off the bed, and Tyler's voice is even more broken once Josh squeezes around his neck. "Stop," Tyler says, voice croaking, tears in his eyes. "It hurts, it hurts. Stop it. I can't take it."

Josh's arm goes around Tyler's neck, cradling his head in the crook of his elbow. His hips form bruises on Tyler's ass from how hard he's fucking Tyler. Tyler is screaming now, clawing at the bed clothes and the pillows. "Stop. Please, please, please, _stop_."

And Jenna watches. She touches herself, slow circles.

It comes undone at Josh's climax. He shivers and spills inside Tyler, and Tyler gasps for air at his own release. Josh pushes himself off Tyler and runs into the bathroom, slamming the door, sliding to the floor and curling into a ball. He hates how alive he feels after doing that. He hates how he doesn't shake, doesn't cry, doesn't feel like a monster.

He can hear Tyler talk to Jenna from here. Tyler is choked up, clearing his throat, coughing. "And you wonder why I don't fucking go to those therapy sessions with him."

*

This is supposed to help you.

*

Jenna leaves, and Tyler takes a shower with Josh.

They stand beneath the spray of water.

"Do you get Jenna off when I…?" Josh doesn't finish.

Tyler nods. There are bruises on his neck and hips and even lower. "Yeah. Just had to rub her clit for a few minutes." He's passing a bottle of shampoo from one hand to the other. "How much longer?" And then, he's rolling his eyes, shaking his head. " _Fuck_ , I meant—"

Josh shakes his head, too. "I don't know."

They don't say anything to each other for the rest of the day. Tyler fixes them chicken noodle soup. He feeds it to Josh in bed after changing the sheets once again.

When Tyler smiles, Josh smiles back.

*

Jenna drives Josh to the library and sits in the basement with him. They listen to a boy discussing his rapist choking him, bruising his throat, and making it so he couldn't talk for a week. Josh cries, and the therapist, a middle-aged man with spectacles and a kind disposition, tells Josh he's progressing faster, and better, than the rest of them.

"Tell me," he says, "about your partners and how they're handling this."

Everyone here knows Josh is in a polyamorous relationship with Jenna and Tyler. Everyone here knows Jenna, but no one here knows Tyler.

"They're supportive," Josh answers, and Jenna holds his hand.

"Even Tyler?" Josh hates seeing that eyebrow raise to the hairline.

"Yes," Josh says through gritted teeth. "Even Tyler."

*

At home, Josh shoves Tyler off his feet. He's carrying a load of laundry, and the basket somehow falls without any of its contents leaving the white plastic. "Hey," Tyler says, trying to appear happy to see Josh is home, but he's tired and annoyed, as well. "Taking it therapy wasn't—"

Josh presses his hand to Tyler's mouth, holding it there. Tyler gets the message. Josh jumps up to grab the lube.

He fucks Tyler in the hallway, Tyler screaming behind Josh's palm the whole time. Josh feels the drip of Tyler's tears hitting his fingers and the spittle from his shouting on his palm. Tyler is bucking, pleading, sobbing.

Tyler bites Josh's hand. Tyler says, "Banana."

Josh pulls out, and there it is—he's shaking, crying, sticky with sweat and shame. "Tyler, please, I—"

"Get me a fucking towel. Over there. Doesn't even fucking matter. I'll wash it again."

Josh pats Tyler clean, gentle, mindful, though Tyler winces all the while. He lets Josh guide him to the bathroom, limping and grunting. Tyler sinks in the bathwater once it's drawn and tells Josh to leave him alone, so Josh sits on the bed and cries. He gets up to put away the clean laundry, thinking it'd make _whatever_ better later on—it doesn't. It really fucking doesn't.

Thirty minutes later, Tyler emerges from the bathroom. He's naked, still limping, dressing in sweats and a long-sleeve shirt. "I know this is going to make me sound like a jerk, and maybe I am." His brow furrows, his jaw sets, and he peels skin from his lips. "I think I'm going to live with Jenna for a while. I can't keep doing this, Josh."

On the bed, leaning on the headboard with blankets pulled to his chin, TV remote in hand, Josh blinks. "What?"

"You heard what I said." Into their closet, Tyler throws a duffel bag onto the carpet.

Josh stares at it, the red color. "What?"

"I'm trying to help you with everything, Josh. I am. My body, it—" Tyler closes his eyes, standing in the middle of the room with socks in his arms. "I just can't keep doing this."

"B-but, I'm getting better." Josh shoves the blankets aside and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "My therapist says I'm doing really well. I stopped, Tyler, when you said the safeword. I'm in control. I'm getting better. I felt like shit afterward."

"You always feel like shit, Josh. It doesn't mean anything." Tyler continues to pack.

"Tyler, please, I need you."

"You said you needed Jenna. Maybe I need Jenna, too."

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" Josh stands.

Tyler turns his back on Josh. "I thought you were _getting better_."

"Tyler—"

"Just let me go. One night. I'm not breaking up with you. I'm still in love with you. Just give me one fucking night where I get a peaceful night's sleep."

Tyler is selfish, or is Josh being selfish? Josh wants to yell. He wants to say it isn't fair for Tyler to be able to run away from his problems while Josh is forced to let them occupy his mind for an unforeseeable amount of time. No, Josh has to remind himself, he isn't a problem, isn't a burden. Tyler doesn't think of Josh as one. Tyler needs to sleep. Tyler needs rest. Josh worries Tyler might need to remove the tattoo on his leg.

"Okay," Josh says. "Okay."

Nothing comes from Tyler. He steps into shoes and slings the bag over his shoulder. The last thing he grabs is his phone charger. He leaves without saying goodbye.

Tyler didn't bring his cigarettes with him. For once in his life, Josh doesn't feel like sucking in the nicotine.

*

For the first time in months, Josh wakes from a nightmare with no one to help him, to hold him down, to hold him close, to whisper in his ear, "I'm here, I'm here, Tyler's here."

It's nearly two in the morning when Josh wakes, and he times himself to see how long it takes for him to stop panting, crying, screaming. Josh is screaming because there's no one here to listen to him. He's talking nonsense and shaking so badly from either chills or his nerves—he can't tell; he pulls on a sweatshirt all the same. Josh paces the room, paces the hallway, and paces the whole apartment. It's two thirty in the morning now, and Josh is in the kitchen, staring at the table and hating the way it stands crooked.

Tyler always said it was because one of the legs was a defect, that they shouldn't have bought a kitchen table from a dollar store, but the table never wobbled until after their ex pushed Josh on top of it and rode his cock hard and fast and mean. Josh wraps his fingers around the edge of the table and feels it move, shift, creak. Josh shoves it, and he shoves it again, and he uses all his strength to turn it over, to get it out of the way, out of his sight, out of his fucking head. It crashes, loud, and Josh shouts into his palms. When he shuts his eyes, he can see her reaching forward with manicured nails and choking him. He can see her smile, and he can see Tyler's fist colliding with it, cutting open her lip with the ring Josh bought for him on their five-year anniversary. Tyler cried when Josh gave it to him. He doesn't wear the ring anymore. The punch to her face gave him a nasty bruise, almost a fracture, so he keeps it in a drawer in the nightstand on his side of the bed. Some nights, Josh finds Tyler sliding it on and off his finger, and he doesn't hide it when Josh asks him what he's doing.

"I should get you one," Tyler says, "but then I would need to get Jenna one, too. Wouldn't I?"

Josh shakes his head. "I think she'll understand."

Tyler nods. "You're right."

Tyler isn't here now. Tyler is gone. Tyler is with Jenna. And Josh is in the kitchen, crying into his hands. "Please," he's whispering. "Please stop. I want you to stop."

It's three in the morning, and if Tyler were here, Josh would have been back to bed, dreaming of nothing and enjoying the smallest of strokes to his hair. Josh is the kitchen, though, and now he can hear her voice telling him he wants this, he should have expected this, "He's my boyfriend, and you're my boyfriend—you should have known I'd try to fuck you. You should have been able to stop me if you didn't want it. You're strong. I've seen you and him wrestle on the floor, pinning each other, laughing, always fucking laughing. You told me you liked me, but you never let me touch you, barely let me kiss you. What did I do? What did I do?"

Josh's eyes hurt. His cheeks are raw from rubbing away tears. He feels as if he's floating.

"What are you _doing_?" you can hear. Then, in your ear, "I'm here, Josh. Tyler's here. Tyler's here." Then, to her, "You're a fucking monster. No, shut up. _Shut up_." He's rushing about the kitchen, fumbling for the landline, shaking as much as you. "Yes, yes, yes," he's saying into the receiver, a hand to your face, touching your cheek, letting you hold onto his wrist as you stare at the ceiling and try to remember how to breathe. Was it in and out? You want to hold it in for twenty minutes. You try. You listen to him talk on the phone.

"She raped him. Yes, she's still here. Yes, I'm with him. Yes, he's having a panic attack. Please," he says, "please hurry."

He holds you. He whispers to you, words you couldn't comprehend at the time, but you know what he's saying now. He's telling you everything is going to be okay, that he'll make everything okay, that he'll be here for you. "Always." He kisses your cheek and wraps a blanket around your shoulders, putting you at the center of his world, even as the police arrive, the paramedics arrive, as you grow faint. "I'll be here for you, Josh," he says. "I love you. Everything is going to be okay."

You faint. You wake in bed.

Josh faints. He wakes on the kitchen floor.

There's a note under their front door from the neighbors. They're available if Josh needs to talk. _Is everything okay?_ they wrote, and Josh hangs the note on the fridge.

It doesn't hurt to breathe.

*

Josh drags the kitchen table to the dumpster and throws it inside the bin. He smiles.

*

On the first day without Tyler in the house, Josh cleans the entire apartment. For an hour, Josh checks his phone every fifteen minutes, but Tyler doesn't text him, doesn't call him, and doesn't post on social media. After that hour, Josh decides he'll be okay if Tyler doesn't try to contact him. "He needs to sleep," Josh says aloud, and busies his hands with cleaning.

He showers when he finishes and fixes some frozen pizza. He watches a documentary about aliens on Netflix and goes straight to bed.

He doesn't have nightmares.

The morning sun isn't an enemy.

Tyler's name is on his phone. _hey_ , he sent late last night, _thought you might be up and wanted to know how you were doing_

Josh says, _I was asleep_.

Josh says, _I'm doing okay_

Tyler reads the messages and sends back a smiley face. He doesn't say if he's going to come home today. He doesn't say anything like that. Josh doesn't ask.

_How's Jenna?_

_wet, brb_

Josh sets down his phone and stares at the cigarettes Tyler left behind. Tossed on the dresser after coming home from work, a few are poking from the casing, tempting. Josh takes them and crouches next to the trashcan in the bathroom. He snaps each of them in two, rubbing the tobacco between his fingers. His phone rings from the bedroom. It's Tyler.

"Yeah?"

"Listen," he says.

Josh falls onto the bed, closes his eyes, and listens to Tyler sigh, Jenna call him disgusting, and Tyler's cock slip in and out of Jenna's cunt. There's nothing else over the line, just that, repeating, and Josh never wants it to end. Josh sticks his hand down his pants and strokes, strokes, and spills over his hand, in his clothing, staining. Josh sighs with Tyler.

"Like that," Tyler says, and he's speaking to Josh and not Jenna. "Just like that. For me, always for me."

"I love you," Josh mutters.

It's quiet.

"I love you, too."

They don't talk about coming home. Josh wonders what that means.

*

Josh goes outside the next day. It's chilly, but he bundles up and doesn't feel like he's being suffocated.

He gets Starbucks and overshares with the barista. "How are you doing today?" she asked him, and he replied, "Well, I didn't have any nightmares, and I made it out of bed, so I'm doing good."

She gives him a look, but it isn't weird. It's like she's trying to remember something, to say something that's on the tip of her tongue. "I know what that's like," she eventually says, and scribbles his name on a cup. "Got out of a bad relationship?"

"I think I'm finally okay."

"That's good," she says, and means it.

"Yeah," Josh says. "It is good."

*

Without Tyler in the apartment, Josh isn't babied and isn't told he's allowed to stay in bed all day. Tyler would let him sleep all the time, would even feed him all his meals and let him go days without showering. It isn't that Tyler was a bad influence. It's just that… he was scared. Josh knows that now.

Tyler didn't know what to do. He didn't want to force Josh into doing something that would make him uncomfortable, that could trigger him. Tyler didn't want to overstep boundaries, so he didn't do _anything_. Tyler must have read something online that told him Josh was like porcelain and needed to be handled with care. Tyler thought he was doing right by letting Josh keep to himself, stay in the house, _not even fucking shower_.

Josh needed coaxing, and he needed to be told to get off his ass and _do something with his life_. If Tyler was rough, if Tyler pushed him into the shower and pulled clothes over his head, then maybe Josh wouldn't have needed to go into therapy. What if they talked? What if Josh sat with Tyler one night and told Tyler he didn't want to get out of bed because he saw no point in getting out of bed? What if Tyler took Josh's hands and suggested they move house, go spend a week in a hotel, go on a fucking vacation? Josh would have cried. Josh wouldn't have grabbed the toaster in the appliances aisle of JCPenney as Tyler picked up the frying pan. They wouldn't have met Jenna. Jenna wouldn't have told him to see someone. Josh wouldn't have needed to go into therapy.

People say everything happens for a reason. Josh thinks that's bullshit. Nobody deserves this.

Josh is getting better. He texts Tyler every other day. He showers frequently. He gets a job at a record store. He buys a new kitchen table. He doesn't have nightmares, and he doesn't wake in fits.

He lets the pink in his hair grow out. The day before his therapy session, Josh returns to his natural hair color. His reflection is happy and doesn't make him think of hands that are not his own choking him, pulling his hair, yanking and yanking.

Jenna checks up on him through text. Josh tells her he's great.

 _Tomorrow?_ She wants reassurance.

 _Tomorrow_.

Tomorrow comes, and Josh tugs a beanie on his head. It's Jenna's car out front waiting, but Jenna isn't inside.

It's Tyler.

"Are you ready to go?" he asks, wearing a beanie of his own and fingerless gloves. "You look good."

Josh climbs in and leans over, kissing Tyler's cheek. He smells like coconuts. "So do you."

"I missed you."

"Are you coming with me?"

Tyler drives. "Yes."

Downstairs in the library, with a group of ten or so people just like him, Josh sits with Tyler on his left and tells the therapist he doesn't think he needs to go here anymore.

"I'm better," Josh says. "I haven't felt like this since I was raped." He can say it now. It doesn't burn his mouth. It doesn't squeeze his throat or churn his stomach.

"Tell me what she did to you, Josh," the therapist advises.

Josh does, and he doesn't feel like floating.

Tyler takes his hand. There's pride in his eyes and a grin on his lips, and Josh thinks this is the best Tyler has looked ever since he found Josh in the kitchen with their ex. He is relieved. He is radiant. He is kissing Josh underneath a streetlamp. Mouth soft, tongue curious, Tyler hugs Josh, and Josh hugs Tyler.

"You smell so good."

"Like Jenna"—a sheepish smile—"and I stopped smoking." Tyler rubs Josh's arms and kisses his cheek, his neck. "Do you want me to come home tonight?"

"Bring Jenna with you," Josh says. "We have some catching up to do."

In bed, Josh kisses Jenna and lets Tyler do all the work—pushing away the bed covers, removing their clothes. When it comes to Tyler's fingers wrapping around Josh's beanie and pulling it from his head, Tyler gasps, and Jenna thinks something is wrong.

But it's just Josh's hair. Jenna doesn't understand why Tyler starts to cry.

"My baby," Tyler says, and he touches Josh's face. "Oh, my baby."

"I'm not your baby." Josh touches Tyler's hands.

Tyler sniffs. "I'm your baby."

"Yes, you are. You're my baby boy. You're Jenna's baby boy."

"I'm your baby," Tyler repeats.

Jenna spreads her legs and squeezes her thighs around Josh's waist. She arches her back and leans her weight on her forearms. "Josh," she's whining, Tyler's hand on her cunt, rubbing circles into her clit as Josh pumps her with his cock. " _Fuck_."

With Tyler, it's slower. Tyler's legs are where Jenna's were, hanging on, heels bouncing against the small of Josh's back at every move of Josh's hips. Their eyes are on each other, Tyler holding onto the side of Josh's neck while the other clutches his cock, his thumb absently stroking the slit. "Josh," he's whining, still audible no matter Jenna in the shower next door. "Oh, Josh."

Josh kisses Tyler. Tyler comes, and at his clenching, Josh shudders and comes inside him. Tyler groans. Josh pecks Tyler's throat.

"We need to talk." Tyler needs to go to sleep, but he doesn't look tired. He runs his fingers through Josh's hair as Josh lies down on his stomach and burrows himself between Tyler's legs, licking him clean.

"We need to talk." A dark curl loops itself along Tyler's index finger. "Are you okay? Do you need me here?"

Josh drags himself over, lying next to Tyler. "I'm okay." He wraps his arm around Tyler's shoulders. "Honestly, Tyler, I don't need you here, but I would like for you to be here."

Tyler is about to cry. He turns his head. "I wanted to come back that morning. Jenna told me you needed space. I called her stupid. She had to hide the car keys." He smiles. It's weak. "She said I changed. She said I wasn't irritable. She said she actually liked me a lot more when I wasn't"—he shrugs—"aiding you with your therapy homework." He's crying now. "I was happy to help, Josh. I just needed a break. It made me—"

"You don't have to tell me." Josh places his head on Tyler's chest. "I've lived through the real thing."

The water shuts off. Jenna is singing.

Tyler plays with Josh's hair. "One question. Comment, really."

"What is it?"

Tyler is already laughing. "You picked out an awfully ugly kitchen table."

Josh hides his face in the blanket over Tyler's stomach as he laughs. "I'll return it. We'll get a new one."

"No. Don't." Tyler pets the shell of Josh's ear, slowly going down to the lobe and the red tunnel. "I like it a lot."


End file.
